


On Camping, Comfort, and Clichés

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Camping, F/M, M/M, Marauders, Other, cliches, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus goes on a camping trip with his friends. As far as expectations go, he certainly wasn't expecting to find comfort in the company of another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Camping, Comfort, and Clichés

Remus Lupin is tired towards the journey’s end. He feels brittle-boned and heavy-lidded, teetering on the edge of sleep and hyperactivity. He hopes he does not collapse at the wheel of the Jeep, having promised his father ‘I will not drive it under the influence nor will I drive it when I have not slept.’ He has not closed his eyes in almost thirty hours and has established a very thin line between dozing and driving. He wonders exactly _how_ he has travelled five hours straight after two Death Eater raids, a night shift at Malfoy Manor, werewolf surveillance and a superb grand total of zero naps.

His hands on the steering wheel do not feel his own. They are foreign extremities operating on a very precarious autopilot. The Jeep swerves drunkenly on the road in the fading dusk. Stars are beginning to emerge from their slumber. A song by The Beatles hums on the radio, but Remus cannot identify it and is too afraid to attempt to do so for fear he will lose concentration on the road. In the passenger seat, Sirius grunts and jerks awake, the seatbelt resisting his abrupt movements.

   “Where’re we?” he drones, almost incoherent in Remus’ half-consciousness. The Jeep rumbles off the road and onto the grass for a moment in his distraction. He straightens the vehicle, thankful for the lack of traffic in the country, and for the lack of police. They’d likely think him inebriated.

   “Just outside Carmarthen,” Remus says. Or, at least, he thinks he says. He isn’t sure about anything that his body does anymore.

   Sirius utters several choice oaths and opens the glove-box, taking out a mirror the size of a book. “Pull over,” he instructs. Remus drives the car off the road and onto the edge of one of the many fields that snake alongside the road, a collection of farms and empty lots with strewn hay and wandering cattle. It takes more effort than he expects, bumping through a ditch he did not heed. He puts the car into park, resting his head on the steering wheel, spent.

   “James Potter,” Sirius murmurs into the mirror. Remus cannot see, but a bespectacled boy with jet black hair and wearing a jumper materializes in the mirror, an orange glow reflecting his handsome features.

   “Where are you berks?” James Potter growls from inside the mirror, his voice a muffled whirr, like a radio frequency. “We’ve been here since midday!”

   “We’ve been busy with the Order – covering for you lot, no less. This is the last time we arrange spontaneous camping trips. We’ve been awake for thirty hours straight, I’ll have you know,” Sirius barks back at his friend, rubbing his eyes and yawning hugely as though to prove his point. “We just left Carmarthen.”

   “Will you make it by midnight?” James inquires.

   “We probably could, but we’re both on our last legs. A few more miles and I think Moony will drive us off a cliff, even if there isn’t one nearby. Do you know if there are any hotels here?”

   “We went the way through Carmarthen and didn’t find anything until we got to Pembrokeshire. Looks like you’ll have to kip in the car, or turn around,” James concludes. “Or you could just Apparate.”

   “It’s too late now. We’re too tired and will probably Splinch ourselves,” Sirius relates bitterly.

   Remus groans and turns off the ignition as Sirius and James tie up their conversation. He is exhausted; marrow-deep tired enough that his blood vessels can feel it. The lethargy is pumping through his veins like thick wildfire. He very nearly falls asleep as Sirius puts the mirror away again.

   “Time for bed,” he coos, switching on the backlight in the car and stretching luxuriously, his back cracking unpleasantly. Remus peers from the corner of his eye at the way Sirius’ white t-shirt stretches against the definition of his muscles, and a small _thud_ is felt at the back of his mind, knocking him back into semi-consciousness. Without another word, Sirius scrambles onto the back seats, manoeuvring his bulky body haphazardly and landing on the leather with a grunted _oof!_

   He proceeds to pull the armrest forward and sticks his head and shoulders inside the boot of the Jeep, rummaging among their belongings for blankets. He fails, however, as the boot is crammed full of luggage and food and camping possessions. Drawing his wand, he waves it inside the boot, and a thick blanket is suddenly launched at him. Remus chuckles as Sirius wrestles with it for a moment. He turns, grinning, shaking out the blanket, which is a hideous orange. He tosses it to Remus and fetches another for himself.

   “Do you want the backseat?” he asks, squashing the armrest back in position.

   “No, that’s fine,” Remus responds politely, if reluctantly. “You take it.”

   “Moony; you’ve been driving all evening,” Sirius points out gently, his brow furrowed with sympathy. “Take the back. I’ll sleep in the passenger seat.” He crawls back into the front of the car, dragging a brown blanket with him. Adjusting the passenger seat so that it resembles a bed, he kicks off his shoes, socks, trousers and jacket, wriggling under the blanket as though he would not wish to be anywhere else.

   Remus grudgingly yet appreciatively makes himself comfortable in the backseat, using his sweater and jeans as a pillow. Sirius waves his wand and casts a heating charm within the car before clicking off the backlight. It dawns on Remus that he and Sirius have not slept in such close quarters since they were at Hogwarts. It had been so natural, then, sleeping in the same room with three other boys; but now it is alien and threatening and he almost wishes he were back at home in his own bed.

   He can hear Sirius’ soft inhales, sharp and careful, fluctuating with the wind against the panes of the windows. It is warm in the car, but still Remus is cold, and guiltily he longs for Sirius to be closer.

   His feelings for Sirius are always at first unwelcome when they make themselves known, but after a while the solitary thoughts of him are lovely enough to entertain to a certain point of happiness. Remus knows he ought to think differently about Sirius – or, rather, he ought _not_ to think differently – and confides his feelings only to himself.

   Sleep eventually takes them. Remus wakes several times during the night because Sirius kicks the dashboard in his lack of consciousness. Each time Remus stirs he is surprised to remember that Sirius does not snore, but rather mutters and grumbles beneath the blanket in conference with his dreams. It is a consoling sound. Remus can imagine himself getting quite used to it.

   When the sun rises with the birds and brushes the trees with its orange wakefulness, the two boys rise, bleary-eyed and yawning with the dawn. Remus slept fitfully, but deadly, his exhaustion getting the best of him for once. Still he is drained and not keen to sit behind the wheel of the Jeep again.

   They get out of the vehicle, shivering in the morning frost and pulling on trousers and jumpers. They stretch their legs and arms and backs, groaning in unison at the aches of their cramps and the knots in their spines.

   Sirius shuffles over to the boot of the car, squinting at the morning sun and scratching the five o’clock shadow growing around his chin. He retrieves a thermos of cold coffee and some bread and marmalade. He pours the coffee into two travel mugs and stirs them with his wand until they are steaming, gazing absently across the fields. Remus watches from the open door of the driver’s seat, having also forgotten Sirius’ simplicity in the morning. He is calm and quiet, bright-eyed in the early hours. Sirius at night is strong and husky, his masculinity breaking through like a powerful beast of laughter and chaos; but in the mornings he is soft and gentle in his mannerisms and his needs are sweetly humble.

   He hands Remus a mug of coffee and a sandwich. Their fingers brush and Remus’ heart shudders perilously through several beats. Sirius does not notice. He opens the door of the backseat and settles himself down to watch the sun rise over the green fields of Wales. Remus thinks Sirius is beautiful in the morning.

   After a quick breakfast, they are back on the road, chasing noon. Sirius is toying with the stereo, flicking between stations in search of songs he likes. Remus finds it irksome and wishes Sirius would stick to just one radio station, for it is distracting and he needs to concentrate on driving. So far they have listened to _Here Comes The Sun, Don’t Stop Me Now, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown, Papa Was a Rolling Stone, Thank God I’m a Country Boy_ (twice on two different stations, much to Remus’ displeasure, as Sirius enjoys jostling the car with his enthusiasm toward the song) _, Only You (And You Alone), Fame, Hotel California, Dancing Queen_ (to which both Sirius and Remus sang exuberantly loud, catching the attention of several passing cars and frightening three cows who had been grazing by a fence) _, Somebody to Love, I Never Cry, Telephone Line_ (this was followed by _Mr Blue Sky,_ which Sirius ardently protested until threatened to be thrown out of the car if he changed the station) _, We Are The Champions,_ and _Night Fever._ As the last hums of ‘ _Grease’s ‘You’re the One That I Want’_ resound into the leather seating, Sirius searches through the glove box for his cigarettes, rolls downs the window, and lights one.

   “Sirius, my dad will go spare if he finds out you’ve been smoking in his car!” Remus admonishes angrily, overtaking a rumbling mini-van going ten miles under the speed limit.

   “I thought this was your car!” Sirius disputes innocently, eyes sparkling mischievously, for he knows very well that Remus is only borrowing his father’s Jeep.

   “It’s not my care _yet_ ,” Remus corrects irritably. “And it never will be if he catches so much as a whiff of your toxicity.”

   “Just the one and I promise no more. Besides, I thought you liked my toxicity,” Sirius teases slyly. He rests the cigarette in his mouth and ties back his long dark hair, grinning at his friend. Remus does his best not to blush.

   “I only like it if you share,” he responds somewhat gruffly. He always feels awkward asking for cigarettes, never thinking to buy them himself.

   However, Sirius complies as he always does, handing over the cigarette in his mouth and sparking another. They continue to drive through the country, the radio blaring. Not a word is exchanged until they reach the next town, their conversation a silent banter of songs and smoke rings. At the gas station, Sirius sits on the hood of the car and talks to James through the Two-Way Mirror, eating an ice cream from the convenience store.

   “Sirius! Get in the car before someone sees you!” Remus hisses from the gas pump. “This is a Muggle village!” Sirius makes a stricken yet amused face and hastens back into the car. Remus catches the last of James’ howling laughter. “Don’t get ice cream on the leather,” he adds through the open window, removing the pump from the tank and leaving to pay for the fuel. In the store he gives the Muggle clerk money for the gas, two bags of crisps, various chocolate bars and a pack of cigarettes and almost leaves without taking his change, unaccustomed to Muggle money.

   Back in the Jeep, Sirius is still talking to James. “– yeah, we’ll be there soon. We aren’t far – Moony, where are we?”

   Remus leans across the handbrake to look at their friend in the mirror. Behind James, he can see Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon collecting sticks and logs for firewood. “Haverfordwest,” he supplies, opening a chocolate bar.

   “You’re very close, then,” James ponders, scratching his chin absently. He has grown careless stubble over the past few days. “Remember to take the B-Four-Three-Four-One when you leave. We got a bit lost after Haverfordwest because we drove down the A-Four-Eight-Seven.”

   “I know where to go,” Remus snaps mildly, smirking. “My sense of direction isn’t barmy like yours, Potter.”

   “Hey!” They laugh at James’ mock offence and terminate the communication, Sirius finishing his ice cream with relish, licking his fingers. Remus pretends he does not feel flustered by it.

   “Do we have an ETA?” Sirius asks, turning to Remus as the sandy-haired boy starts the car with a low purr.

   “About twenty minutes,” Remus answers, stifling a yawn as he turns onto the road and heads for the correct freeway.

   “Really?!” Sirius squeals excitedly, squirming in his seat and pulling out the map they had sparingly referred to. He follows the little yellow road with a finger. “It feels much farther than that.”

   Remus nods in agreement, and then scolds Sirius for not having his seatbelt buckled. They amble down the highway, pushing the speed limit on the empty road. Sirius resumes his position as official-station-changer and watches eagerly as the village of Little Haven draws ever closer, a small collection of white cottages and tumbling hills beside an expansive beach of white sand and a murky Autumn sea.

   Sirius calls James again and the mirror is given to Lily so that she can relay directions to their location. After thirty more minutes and a series of wrong turns, dead-ends and ditches, Remus and Sirius arrive at the open campsite in the Jeep, which groans to a halt, its engine irritated from so much reversing and sharp turns. The campsite is situated on a cliff; a sweeping plane of soft grass beside a rustling copse of trees. In the air you can taste the salt of the sea and the green of the trees in the wind. In the presence of James, Peter, Lily, Marlene and Mary MacDonald, the area is already littered with tents, sleeping bags, firewood, fold-out chairs, portable coolers and a sturdy wooden table. The wind snaps at the open tent flaps.

   Remus and Sirius are greeted in a roar of triumphant cheers, their arrival having been long-awaited since the day before. Marlene jumps on Sirius, climbing skilfully onto his back and laughing delightfully as he trumps over to James, who is at the table with Peter. Lily bounds over to Remus, kissing him dotingly and helping him with the luggage in the boot. James’ Ford wagon is parked near the copse of trees.

   “How are you?” she asks conversationally.

   “Still a bit tired,” admits Remus, juggling two tents, two sleeping bags and a cooler full of drinks. Lily takes the duffle bags. “I’ve had my fair share of draining days, but those two take the cake. Not even my inner wolf can take that much out of me.”

   Lily’s bold eyebrows rise in astonishment as they organize where to pitch the tents. “That’s quite a feat, then,” she admires. “Did Dumbledore take our little trip okay?”

   “I think so; he seemed amused, if anything. He probably knows how nice it is to take the pressure off once in a while. I suspect he understands we deserve it,”

   “Damn right, we do,” Lily affirms strongly.

After catching up on missed adventures and jokes and pranks, the others offer their help to erect Sirius and Remus’ tents and unload the rest of the goods from the boot of the Jeep. This takes no time at all, with the convenience of magic. It transpires that the boys brought the majority of the food and supplies for the next few days.

   “We had a dinner of tinned beans last night,” Mary clarifies with a wrinkled nose. “ _Tinned beans._ I’m absolutely hankering for a barbeque.”

   “Well, we’re going fishing tonight if it doesn’t rain,” James pipes up as he waves Sirius’ things into the green tent with his wand. In his distraction he allows a book to hit Sirius squarely in the face as he emerges from the tent. Remus recognizes the book and goes to retrieve it, for it is his and James is getting their belongings mixed up. It takes another hour before the two tents are assembled and filled with the appropriate items.

   The rest of the day is spent enjoying the company of others. Remus struggles with socialization, but adores these unfamiliar comforts of sharing mugs and swapping memories of pranks and detentions. As midday wears on, however, he grows isolated and envious. Sirius’ arm is slung coolly over Marlene’s shoulder as they eat lunch and drink beer. Remus does not wish to submit himself to the coils and knots in his stomach. He has no right to be possessive over someone who does not belong to him, yet he is burdened all the same with feelings of bitter jealously and resentment. Even if he stood any chance at all of winning his friends’ affections, Marlene is too great a competition to bear.

   Angrily, he reprimands himself for thinking of her as such. Remus likes Marlene; she is witty and energetic. He only wishes that she was not as interested in the same person as he.

   After lunch, the group of teenagers reinforce the protective spells around their campsite and pack fishing rods, chairs and a cooler full of beers into James’ wagon. They pile in like circus clowns; James in the drivers’ seat, Lily in the passenger seat with Mary curled at her feet, Peter, Remus and Sirius squashed into the back, and Marlene buckled in on Sirius’ lap, giggling flirtatiously at him. Remus attempts to ignore her by talking to Peter, but fails, for Peter chooses to talk to Lily about car engines (again).

   Thankfully, the drive down along the cliff face is not far and Remus does not have to suffer long. There is a well-organized fishing spot a few miles away from the campsite where the cliff is low enough to access the deeper parts of the water. They scramble out of the Ford and set up their fishing rods for tonight’s potential dinner. The beach is cold and the wind batters knots into their hair. Across the sea, the sun hovers, waiting to set, tinting the sky with pinks and yellows. Remus throws his line out into the water and sits down in his chair, accepting a beer from Lily. She drags her chair over to him.

   “I wish Marlene wouldn’t flirt with Sirius like that,” she mutters. Remus knows no one else is supposed to hear this discussion and leans in closer.

   “Why?” he asks, endeavouring nonchalance.

   “It’s obvious you like him, and it can’t be easy on you,”

   Remus chokes on his beer, dribbling it down his sweater in bewilderment. Lily snickers and then smiles sympathetically, patting his hand as he wipes at the beer with his fingers. “How do you know that?” he mumbles, knowing better than to feign indifference in front of Lily.

   “I know what it means when you look at someone the way you look at Sirius,” she answers simply. “Why don’t you say anything?”

   “Are you mental? He’ll probably laugh in my face,” Remus wails, sticking his fishing rod into the sand and the dirt miserably.

   “Oh, I don’t know,” Lily ponders, looking over at Sirius, who is laughing at James’ famous impersonation of Professor Slughorn, his low bark echoing across the water. It is the sort of laugh that makes you fall in love over and over again. “I think he might surprise you.”

   Remus does not press the conversation, feeling uncomfortable. He is not accustomed to sharing his feelings, even with Lily, yet is amazed again at her ability to decipher them regardless of him saying anything or not. He is grateful for her; her presence is an easy foundation where he can leave his emotions to simmer. He does not dump them, as you would a problem or burden, but places them into her motherly care, to hold and nurture even if it is by doing nothing at all.

   A storm is rolling in over the mountains and when a cloud of rain begins to creep over the water, the group pack up their things and hasten back to the car. They have caught nothing, but their campsite is in danger of being destroyed by the torrential rain that approaches. James slams his foot on the accelerator and they speed back to their tents, which are invisible to any eyes but their own, but still unsafe from the destruction of the weather.

   While Mary, Sirius and Peter unpack the car, James, Lily, and Marlene hurry to erect a waterproof shelter; a large sheet of industrial plastic sheeting that Peter had the sense to bring along. They enlarge it to cover the area and levitate it overhead, casting spells to keep it in place, and adding more protective charms around the tents to stay the wind and the oncoming cold. Remus runs over to the Jeep, feeling the beginnings of the rain fleck his face. He gets into the car and reverses it nearer to the campsite just as the others are reinforcing the shelter.

   “Oh, I hope it stays,” Mary says fretfully, gazing up at the dark green sheet which darkens their tents and casts an unearthly shadow against the thundering clouds.

   “It’ll be fine,” James tells her firmly. “And if it falls, we’ll still stay dry anyway.”

   Sirius chuckles and proceeds to build a fire just as the storm hits, rain battering against the plastic. Remus finds it reassuring to have something to hide them from the rain. It feels safer, somehow, and not as claustrophobic as Peter is now declaring.

   “Pete, if you’re willing to get wet for the sake of openness, then by all means, move your tent to the right a bit,” Marlene gripes, kneeling by the fire as it crackles to life.

   Peter scowls and joins her. Lily passes around tea and James retrieves sausages from one of the coolers Sirius and Remus brought with them. The night is spent ignoring the storm raging around the camp and eating and laughing and talking. It is warm by the glow of the fire and Remus is at ease once more, vaguely reminded of their long sessions of Exploding Snap, Wizards’ Chess and map-making by the fire in Gryffindor Tower. He sometimes forgets they are now but memories, soon to be abandoned for more important things. However, it is instances like these, where the company is warm and the tribulations heartily snubbed that he feels he is truly at home again, and thinks that there are far more important things in the world than just a war they must win.

   It is much to Remus’ shamefaced pleasure that Sirius is now overlooking Marlene’s attempts to potentially spend the night in his tent and has taken refuge on Remus’ lap, having no other place to sit. Remus knows it is only a friendly, playful gesture, but he is made giddy by it anyway. He holds his knees together to cease their trembling and sends Lily warning glares whenever she looks at him cheekily, grinning at their shared imaginings.

   The conversation drifts to silly things and memories and Remus, not feeling particularly nostalgic, shoves Sirius off him and retreats to his tent to read his book. Every so often, he looks up to see his friends halfway through a game of charades or crying and yelling when a frog surprised them by jumping on Mary’s lap. It is not until late into the evening when the fire is put out and tents retired to. Remus is unforgivably tired. He has the smallest tent to himself and is selfishly thankful for at least a bit of isolation from his friends. The girls had been sharing a tent for the first night, so that Peter could kip with James, but now that Sirius and Remus have brought their own, James and Lily have a tent to themselves, as do Marlene and Mary, and Sirius is more than accommodating to give up room for Peter in one of the larger tents. Remus is alone, just how he likes it.

   The rain persists through the night, hammering against the shelter like a thousand marching soldiers. Remus stays up late, reading and listening to the falling of the sky. He has loved it ever since he was small; the calming sound of orderly chaos and the damp smell of the leaves and the grass and the trees. He falls asleep to the pattering of the rain, and is woken when it stops and the world is smothered in an eerie silence.

   Sighing, Remus rolls over in his sleeping bag, feeling disconcerted. In his opinion, there is nothing worse than rain stopping in the middle of the night.

   Rubbing his eyes, he checks his watch and is surprised to see it is only one o’clock in the morning. It is bone-chillingly cold and he suffers his arm to retrieve his wand and cast another heating charm in the tent. He is about to replace it back on the ground when he hears rustling outside his tent. Tightening his grip on his rather useful weapon, he pricks his ears for more sounds.

   A twig snaps and an oath is uttered huskily in the mist. In the moonlight, a shadow looms across the door of Remus’ tent, long and distorted. A long finger taps the zip, knocking.

   “Psst,” a hoarse voice whispers. “Psst. Remus, are you awake?”

   It’s Sirius.

   Swearing and grumbling, Remus ignites his wand and throws his sleeping bag open to unzip the tent. He reveals a dishevelled, half-asleep Sirius Black at his door, grinning smugly in his pyjamas. Remus steps aside, glaring at his friend as he enters.

“Ah, nice and warm in here,”

   “What are you doing?” Remus hisses peevishly, doing his best not to admire again the way Sirius’ muscles stretch through the tightness of his t-shirt and attempt instead feel rather astonished that Sirius is not shivering in his half-naked state. It does not work.

   Sirius says nothing and proceeds to make himself comfortable in Remus’ tent; in Remus’ sleeping bag, no less! He squirms under the covers, his grin still plastered on his handsome face. He then looks up at Remus, blinking expectedly.

   “Are you getting in or not?” he says, patting the sleeping bag fondly.

   “I’m sorry?” Remus blubbers, staring in awe. Sirius is known for his spontaneity at the best of times, but not with Remus. And certainly not in Remus’ bed.

   Sirius smiles, small and wide and genuine. It is not like his usual grins that are huge and roguish with charm, but it is sweet and kind and almost shy. He sits up in the sleeping bag, hair rumpled and t-shirt askew. He pats the vacant spot next to him again and Remus takes a deep breath before going over, settling down and crossing his legs carefully, his precision like a guarded barricade.

   Remus did not know what he expects to happen. He has never been the type to hold expectations, especially against his friends, for he can never quite guess what bedlam they will get up to next. And so, he has always prepared himself for startling things, like fireworks shooting off at breakfast in the Great Hall, or crumbs in his socks as punishment for all the biscuits he used to leave around the dormitory when they were at Hogwarts. While Remus has oftentimes been taken off guard, he is seldom truly surprised by the anarchy his friends can conduct.

   Sirius kissing him is something he has imagined, and perhaps even dared to dream about in upper world of his own imagination. It is when Remus begins to imagine things that he actually stunned by their occurrence. Sirius kissing him throws off his entire equilibrium and it makes his brain feels fuzzy and his fingers curl slightly.

   It is not a feeling he can describe, and Remus can describe a lot of different feelings. The kiss spreads through his limbs and engulfs every sense in his body. He grows uncertain of everything around him. There is him, and there is Sirius and the kiss, but Remus isn’t quite sure of anything else.

   He regards the tenderness of Sirius’ lips; they are kind and warm, unlike his rough, boyish exterior. Remus has always related Sirius with clumsiness and heavy hands, but now he is different. His hands are careful as they brush Remus’ jaw, long fingers running through his hair and brushing against his neck. Remus almost gasps, and prevents this by biting down on Sirius’ lip. It is accidental, but Sirius is not aware of this, and he pulls away, lips pursed warily as he smiles.

   “Sorry,” he says. “I should – erm – well…”

   Remus can see Sirius collecting his bearings self-consciously and is suddenly afraid he will leave. This cannot happen. It is not in Remus’ nature to assume responsibility or take credit in any situation unless he is receiving top marks in a class or has captured a Death Eater, and so it is against his better judgement to in turn surprise Sirius by crushing his lips against the other boys’, the sheer force of his hunger enough to push Sirius to the ground of the tent and take Remus down with him.

   They fall apart, laughing at Remus’ abrupt enthusiasm and disentangling themselves clumsily from each other’s limbs. A heavy silence falls over the tent and the rain continues once more.

   Remus sits up, scratching his nose uneasily. “So, uh – did you – did you sneak into my tent just to sleep with me?” he asks nervously, not meeting Sirius’ eyes.

   Sirius chuckles, tugging absently at the extra blankets Remus had been using for warmth. “If by ‘sleep’ you actually mean lay our heads down and getting some well-deserved shut-eye, then yeah,” he clarifies.

   Remus blinks, stifling a yawn. He is confused by this Sirius; he is a boy that Remus has not had the good conscious to ever know before. He is sweet and almost bumbling and strangely innocent, if good-heartedly bold. Remus isn’t sure if he loves it or is confronted by it.

   “Well, alright then,” he submits, moving to the sleeping bag. “This is very cliché, you know.”

   Sirius nods, smirking.

   It is a tight squeeze, but the two boys arrange themselves against each other comfortably, their bodies fitting easily. Remus has never really slept in a bed with someone else, and he allows himself to admit to its appeal. There is a security in sharing a bed and knowing there will never be cold patches when he shifts his feet.

   At first it is awkward, just lying there in an icy stillness as the rain drums around them. Remus is ambiguous towards Sirius’ motives. Sirius has never expressed any inclinations towards being in such close proximity to Remus. He doesn’t seem very confident now, and Remus is suddenly aware of how effortlessly Sirius’ defenses are lowered, unable to come to terms with the fact that it may because of him.

   He can still taste Sirius on his lips and he licks them gingerly.

   “So,” Sirius says, a little too loudly, which Remus figures is due to his nerves, something that had once been incomprehensible. “I’m guessing you have questions.”

   Remus blinks several times, clearing his thoughts of how temperate Sirius’ lips had been. “Oh,” is all he says for a long moment, for he is still taken aback by these sudden events and is utterly void of any questions except for; “Can’t we do that again?”

   Sirius lets an unattractive, good-natured snort escape him and buries his face into his chest, shaking with supressed laughter at Remus’ indiscretion. Remus tries not to feel embarrassed, but it’s difficult when Sirius won’t stop chuckling. Cheeks burning, he kicks him, and when Sirius emerges from under the sheets Remus takes no time at all in kissing him again, rough and unrefined, afraid to overthink what he is doing in case he loses his newfound audacity.

   The night is lost to them; lost in the warm gasps against Remus’ neck and lost in the hundreds of ways he learns to feel Sirius. Their hands search for each other in the dark, their limbs tangled and gawky. Their lips never part unless it is to catch their breath. It is slow and the air is cold, but soon it is hot and the sheets are abandoned. Sirius’ fingers trail goose bumps on Remus’ skin and Remus’ kisses mar Sirius’ neck and lips and jawline with fiery bruises.

   Afterwards, they retrieve Remus’ cigarettes and open the tent to smoke, their conversation a silent exchange of eye-contact and smiles. They are not there for long. The biting cold from the rain enters their bones and they retreat back inside the tent, huddling in the small spaces of each other to savour the warmth.

*

The morning brings long grass and green leaves glittering with remnants of the rain in the sunrise. Across the sweeping hills of Little Haven, its orange glow brings colour to the dismal sea and to the waterlogged homes in the village. In Remus’ tent, he and Sirius wake a few hours after dawn, listening to the sounds of life stirring in the campsite, exchanging defiant grins. Remus wonders how they’ll get out of the predicament they have knowingly landed themselves in.

   Sirius shifts in the sleeping bag, naked and radiating a heat Remus does not wish to be relinquished from. They lie still, perceptive of every sound around them. The rain has finally stopped and there are a relayed murmurs resounding through the tents from outside. Then suddenly the laughing light of the early sun shines through the fabric of the tent as the plastic shelter is taken down, opening the campsite once more to a blue and grey sky.

   Remus stretches, knowing they will be called upon soon. Next to him, Sirius is snickering, his face illuminated beautifully in the yellow and blue. He brings himself up in the sleeping bag and leans over Remus, planting a kiss on his forehead, then his nose, and then all over his face. Remus laughs, brushing him away affectionately. Sirius tucks his hair behind his ears and dips his head for a proper kiss, and they are quiet for a moment, until;

   “Marlene, where’s Sirius?” James’ voice shudders across the ground.

   “What do you mean?” Marlene’s sleepy tones return. “I thought he was bunking with Peter.”

   “He was, but he left in the middle of the night,” Peter says. “I assumed he went to your tent.”

   “Why would he go to Marlene’s tent when Mary’s in there?” Lily says carefully. “I mean, Sirius is no gentleman, but he knows what lines are not meant to be crossed.”

   “Uh-oh. Busted,” Sirius sings with mocking sincerity.

   Remus chuckles beneath him. “Better put our clothes on,” he says, eyeing the pile in the corner of the tent. He cannot discern his clothes from Sirius’.

   Sirius complies and slips out of the safety of the sleeping bag, shivers running down the muscles of his arms in the morning frost. He picks out his clothes and hands Remus his and not a moment too soon because a shadow leers over the tent entrance.

   “Remus?” Lily’s voice echoes inside. “Is Sirius in there with you?”

   Remus says nothing, but looks to his friend for assistance. Sirius merely shrugs and nods, clarifying that there is little point in lying to her. He cannot Apparate within the boundaries of the camp, and so they are trapped by their own foolishness. Remus is not as afraid as he thought he would be, for he has imagined this sort of situation before, somehow.

   “Yes,” he replies.

   He hears Lily gasp and then let out a small giggle. “May I come in?” she asks, the silhouette of her hand reaching up to the zip. Remus submits.

   She slips through, her red hair a mass of early-morning tangles. She is wearing one of James’ Appleby Arrow’s jumpers and purple gumboots. Her eyes dart from one boy to the other, Remus trouser-less and Sirius clutching his t-shirt, both of them grinning inanely. She returns the smile and is about to open her mouth to make what Remus is sure will be a very crafty comment when a second person comes barging in. James climbs through the flap, his presence making it decidedly cramped inside the tent. Remus’ heart freezes anxiously as James imitates Lily, flicking his attention from one of his friends to the other, eyes narrow and arms crossed furiously. He notices the purple and red evidence of last night along Sirius’ neck and his nostrils flare.

   “How dare you?” he snarls, glaring at the two of them. “You’ve ruined _everything_.”

   “James –” Sirius begins gingerly, stepping forward, but he is cut off.

   “There was a _reason_ Remus got the smaller tent, Padfoot! Now we have to rearrange everything!” James storms out of the tent, leaving a disbelieving awe of hush in his wake. “Pete! Get your stuff; you’re taking Moony’s tent. Those two gits have decided to complicate this whole operation.”

   Lily explodes with laughter and jumps on the spot for a moment to relieve herself of pent up excitement, beaming at Sirius and Remus, who are still dumbstruck by their friends’ reaction. Lily leaves them, mentioning something about breakfast that they do not adhere.

   “Well, that went well,” Sirius finally announces, turning to Remus, whose eyebrows are far into his hairline. “Trust Prongs to care more about the tents than the fact that we just slept together.”

   “You know, I do recall you saying something about actually _sleeping_ ,” Remus says cockily, meeting Sirius’ eyes.

   “Ah, so we stretched the definition a bit. Besides; now we get a tent to ourselves,” Sirius croons, grinning lavishly. He puts his t-shirt on at last and Remus remembers the trousers in his hands. “I dunno about you, but I’m starved,” Sirius adds, making for the exit.

   But Remus pulls him back, embracing him in a final kiss, deep and passionate and sparkling with electricity. Their hands wander eagerly and the temptation to discard their clothes again is ardent and heavy. Remus is vividly aware of a desire, a _need_ to have Sirius completely to himself, to never allow those lips kiss anyone but him ever again. It is an astounding force when it comes to the more simple realizations in life, and Remus isn’t sure how to fully grasp the seemingly alien feeling. All he can fully understand is that he is reassured by Sirius’ lips and Sirius’ hands and that his presence is a real and honest comfort, and that all the evidence Remus has been shown of love and passion and yearning amounts to nothing; not when he compares it to this.


End file.
